A revised version a story I started a long time ago. Long story (no pun intended) short, I didn't really have the time or energy at that time to commit to a story then, but I do now. Hope you enjoy and occasionally review this fic. Also don't mind the teensy weensy 'Walking Dead' reference in this chapter. It's all my coworkers talk about come Monday morning, even though I haven't had the chance to get past the first episode

Disclaimer: I don't own the obvious.

"DOES ANYONE HAVE THAT FUCKING HALDOL?" shouts sliced through the emergency room corridors of the new Dent Memorial Hospital. The shouts in question belonged to none other than Dr. Thomas Elliot, Chief of Staff. Not seven minutes earlier, Dr. Elliot was giving a facilities tour to a potential new physician. The whole event had been going well until a rather uppity patient overpowered two orderlies and charged the hallways screaming 'The Walkers are gonna find me'. And now, instead of welcoming a brand new member of the team, Elliot was trying to assist the two orderlies in restraining the maniacal patient.

Night nurse Amy Christensen strolled in, holding a measured syringe. "Relax, we are armed and ready." Upon looking at the unfortunate struggle she made a show of studying the syringe. "Uh…probably not gonna get this into that flailing limb without a big mess. Do ya think you can get him on his stomach?"

"WHAT DO YOU THINK WE'RE TRYING TO DO?" Elliot growled back. On top of everything else, he didn't need to be informed of the obvious.

Between the three of them they were able to wrestle the patient on his stomach where as Mark, the strongest of the three was able to expose the patient's buttocks, leaving Amy to swab the area and hold it taught before administering the sedative.

Once the patient's thrashing subsided, Elliot tugged his lab coat in an attempt to straighten out his now dishelved appearance. "Where's Dr. Hadley?"

"Who?" Amy asked with indifference as she capped the needle.

"Dr. Hadley; the recruit from Mass General." Elliot spoke through gritted teeth.

"Um…I wouldn't bet your pension on this, but I think she may be the one Kelly saw throwing up in the bathroom after this little brouhaha got underway."

"Magnificent. From now on, keep a handle on these new admits. If that's too much for you, let me know and I will find someone who is competent enough to do it. Are we clear?"

"Clear as mud."

Once the charming episode was finished and documented, Amy saw that it was 1:30 am, which meant she still had several more hours to go before she could get home. Other than the slight fracas, the whole night had been slow which was weird. On any other night, they would be flooded with anything and everything, ranging from gunshots to allergies and at least three of these Haldol moments. She halted to a stop at the nurses' station to find Greg Carlson and Lainey Waterford there, their eyes focused on the small TV set up on the corner of the main desk.

"Where's everyone else?" There had been eight other nurses on duty when Amy left to grab an espresso from downstairs before helping with this last patient.

Greg kept his eyes pasted to the screen: "Kelly, Aaron, and Lexi are with patients; everyone else went home a little while ago."

"Hmm." Amy leaned her elbows on the counter. "I don't get it."

Now Greg looked up to smirk at her. "Oh it's all very simple. After people finish working, they all walk out of one of the many entrances to this delightful place, get in their cars and drive to these idyllic little houses—"

"Or cramped, overpriced apartments in my case," Lainey interjected.

"—right," Greg continued, "without any patients, doctors, or shitty coffee and they continue living."

Amy scoffed, "I'm talkin' about how uneventful it is tonight. For the most part, I've been able to stop every now and then and catch my breath."

Lainey smiled at her, fond yet condescending, looking like nothing more than an older sibling regarding a much-mistaken younger sister. "It's not bullet wounds and car accidents for all 365 days of the calendar. Once or twice a year, we get a slow night."

In the seven months since Amy began working in Gotham, she thought that she had managed to get the routine down. However, there was one thing she kept failing to remember: Gotham City was nothing if not unpredictable.

"Well that's just fabulous, because I just downed two espressos. Now here I am, all wired-up with almost nothing to do."

By now, Greg was now back to being half focused on the television. "Don't worry, things might pick up as the night goes on. For now, just relax and enjoy it."

"Um, okay," Amy said, plastering a large, somewhat sarcastic smile on her face. "Now you're the one who's not getting it. Two espressos translate to me not being relaxed for the rest of the night."

"Just sit down and watch some TV. The news should get your adrenaline going."

Sighing, Amy collapsed into a swivel chair beside her two colleagues. She didn't care much for the news in general anyway, but as of late, she loathed it. Every time she'd come upon a broadcast, she had to hear about the latest in a string of attacks or and murders of certain high-ranking businessmen. While the GCP had yet to comment, there was plenty of speculation in the media that the recent attacks were owed to a possible new serial killer. There was also heavy speculation that the elusive Batman was involved.

After about ten minutes of such coverage Amy couldn't take it anymore. "Ugh, can we watch something else? That guy Engle creeps me out."

Lainey looked at her in disbelief. "What d'ya mean? He's so gorgeous, and suave, too. How can ya not see that?"

"Sorry, I can't help it. Something about him just screams middle aged brat pack."

Greg snapped his head in Amy's direction to give her a warning look. It was unnecessary of course; as Amy knew as soon as the words left her mouth that she made a catastrophic error.

Sure enough, Lainey did not disappoint. "Excuse me? The 'brat pack' is quite possibly the most talented group of actors in two generations. And 'Pretty in Pink' is the single greatest movie to ever grace American culture."

Amy just rolled her eyes and accepted defeat. She may have been hyped up on caffeine, but she did not have the energy to listen to Lainey's half-hour tribute to that particular film genre.

Over the next hour they got a couple new patients in, but nothing too complicated. When she wasn't checking in on a few sleeping patients or trying to focus on the TV, Amy took the time to check her text messages to see if Grace would make it home that night. Grace Whiting was Amy's best friend since childhood, and current roommate.

Amy loved almost everything about her old friend except for one small thing, a large pain-in the-ass named Dylan. Dylan was Grace's beau of three years. He was a part-time alcoholic, part-time cocaine addict and a full-time sore spot between Amy and Grace. Being the loyal type, Grace couldn't bring herself to let go of Dylan, despite the drama his addiction caused. Amy believed that Grace deserved better and voiced that opinion often, while Grace berated Amy for not even giving Dylan a chance.

Grace's text to Amy stated that she would be staying with Dylan that night, which she was doing with greater and greater frequency. Amy squashed her annoyance by replacing it with curiosity. After Engel finished a lengthy commentary on Batman, she let out a heavy sigh and asked, "So, when did this Batman actually come out?"

In the seven months since Amy moved to Gotham after a she had only gotten the bare facts about the masked vigilante. The most significant information that she heard about him was that he had murdered Harvey Dent about three years prior before disappearing altogether. Of course, there were conflicting reports surrounding that story. The majority of citizens expressed vehement hatred against him because of Dent, but at the same time a small minority maintained a belief in Batman's innocence. When Amy first arrived she was intrigued by the whole thing, but it didn't take long for the lack of substantial information to exhaust her interest.

When the news ended and there was nothing but infomercials to watch, Greg gave her a comprehensive rundown on the origins of the city's unwanted mascot up to the murder of Dent. Greg was one of the few who didn't know what to think about the whole situation. He had a hard time believing that after everything the Batman had done to help the city; he would up and pull something like that. On the other hand, there was no logical alternate excuse for what happened to Dent. Still, it made no difference. The only thing that mattered was that the case that Dent had been building at the time of his demise had pretty much died with him. The city hadn't reverted completely to its criminally deranged pre-Batman days, but it was close enough for discomfort.

About half-way through Greg's account, Amy regretted even asking. The situation was confusing and frustrating enough for the long-time inhabitants of Gotham, much less a relative newcomer such as herself. Not soon enough, Greg's diatribe ended when Amy felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up to meet the powder-blue eyes of Dr. Ralph Haverton.

As with every time Amy came into contact with Dr. Haverton, she tried to control the tingling in her joints. At 42 years of age, he was fifteen years her senior, but she felt that wasn't problematic. It wasn't like he was old enough to be her father (well, he wasn't of an appropriate age to be her father), and she felt that she had the maturity to handle such a relationship. However, her confidence ultimately waned under the reality that he didn't seem to view her in a romantic way. True, they would always chat with ease while working, and several times, they had shared breakfast or lattés in the cafeteria at the end of their shift. In truth, they were closer than most at the hospital, but his interest in her just didn't seem to go further than that of a close colleague. Regardless of what he did or didn't feel for her, Amy very much admired him. When they first met, she had been intrigued by his tall physique, light-brown hair and slight trace of a German accent. More than that, she was attracted to the safe aura that he emanated to those around him.

Of course, in light of Haverton's apparent disinterest in her, Amy had convinced herself that what she felt was just a silly crush and that even if he was interested, it would be a bad idea for them to get involved, since he was technically her superior. This mantra was of course reinforced by the belief that maybe Haverton wasn't interested because she wasn't pretty or witty enough to entice him. She would then berate herself again for engaging in the same thought process as an infatuated preteen. A month prior she at last accepted that nothing romantic would ever happen between them. Despite the newfound recognition, she felt that there was nothing wrong with her getting a small case of the tingles whenever he came by. He was an attractive man and she was a living, breathing woman.

Haverton's hand remained on Amy's shoulder as he eyed the running TV and the nerve-wracking game of solitaire that Lainey had set up on the desk. "I can see that you're all firmly engaged in serious pursuits, but we have a patient in trauma two."

Lainey furrowed her brows in confusion. "We haven't seen anyone come through here for a half-hour."

"He didn't want to take the risk of being seen, but that's beside the point right now. We have a patient and I need assistance."

Greg piped up, "I nominate Amy. All in favor?" He and Lainey both waved their hands over their heads like giddy children.

Amy tossed her hands up trying to suppress a dramatic screech. "Why is it always me? I took the last two. It's Greg's turn."

"True," Lainey chirped, "But one: you've been here the least amount of time, so that entitles us to boss you around a bit. Aaaand two: you're the one who was complaining about being full of good ol', caffeine-induced energy."

By now Haverton was getting exasperated, so Amy quickly jumped up and moved to follow him. He was not usually a tough man, but when it came to the patients, he accepted no bullshit.

Once they turned the corner and were out of sight of Greg and Lainey, Haverton pulled on Amy's elbow, leading her into a nearby supply room. Once inside, he leaned towards her. It was dark in the room, the only illumination coming from the hallway lights outside. Amy's mind flashed back to the night she had her first kiss. She remembered the swarm of butterflies fluttering in her stomach as she sat on the living room floor with her guy. They were watching a movie and the room had been dark. As the end credits neared, Amy knew that he was going to kiss her, knew that it would happen as soon as the movie was over, and had been about ready to lose her breath at the anticipation.

Maybe it was because she had been waiting so long for Haverton to return her interest, but Amy couldn't help but be reminded of that night as she stood in the darkened room with him. Excitement rushed through her. Was he actually going to do something? But if so, why now after months of not giving her any signals? However, all Haverton did was inform her as to who the patient was and warn her not to gawk or show any surprise when they entered the room.

At the realization that he just wanted to prepare her for the patient, Amy felt a twinge of disappointment. She didn't have too much time two dwell, because Haverton walked around her and opened the door so that she could proceed down the hallway.

The trauma room was empty when they got to the doorway. Haverton leaned against the supply counter with a ghost of a smile on his face. "He must still be in radiology. I'll tell you now that I'm pretty sure the x-rays will tell me that he broke about 90% of the bones in his left hand."

"Huh. Any signs of impaired blood flow?"

"No, not on initial observation. It appeared to be several compression fractures."

"Ouch!"

Haverton chuckled, which caught Amy by surprise. He was too compassionate a person to be so light when there was someone in pain. After seeing the look on Amy's face, he explained, "Relax, I don't think that he's feeling an exorbitant amount of pain right now. He was pretty well lit when I examined him."

Amy smiled as she set up her little makeshift station. She thought that Haverton sounded adorable using expressions such as 'well lit' with his German tongue. Of course if she ever brought up to him how much she liked his accent, he would just laugh and say that she was the one with an accent. It was a small running joke that the two of them had.

"Was he able to mention how it happened?"

Haverton shook his head in disgust. This patient may have captured the interest of several Gothamites, but Haverton was not a part of that particular fan base. "He tried to slur out an explanation but all that I was able to make out was 'got away from me' and 'didn't look that heavy'."

"Anyone come with him?"

"His butler. I pointed out the cafeteria to him so I think he's downstairs getting coffee."

"Was he able to elaborate on the situation?"

"No. He just says that he came downstairs and found him drunk and clutching his wrist in pain."

"Should I go find him in the waiting room after I'm done?"

"No I directed him to wait in my office when he returns. After I check out the x-rays, I'll bring him back here. Go ahead and check on your other patients first, by the time you finish he should be back here."

After a few quick checks of her remaining patients. Amy returned to the room to find a new but expected inhabitant. Lying down on the examination table was the slightly worse for the wear millionaire…or was he a billionaire? Amy had heard a little bit about the enigmatic Bruce Wayne from Grace. Overall though, she didn't spend much time paying attention to his exploits.

Making sure to heed Haverton's 'anti-gawking' warning, she went over to Bruce and began her assessment. "Ok, now what do we have here?" She picked up Bruce's hand. Haverton wasn't exaggerating. Amy couldn't help but picture a daffy duck's hand after it was caught under a rogue anvil. She could smell a slight trace of alcohol on him, but nothing major. She expected him to be a little more wasted, but maybe it was starting to wear off. Inebriated or not, Amy knew that this man must be in intense pain, yet he showed just a slight discomfort.

"How's your pain? Scale of one to ten."

Bruce studied his hand for a moment. "Um, I would say about a three or a four. It's not that bad, it's just throbbing a bit."

On the outside, Amy simply furrowed her brows and began charting. On the inside, she was picking her jaw up off the floor. A headache would cause a three. "All right then…uh…good. However, if you become too uncomfortable just…um… tell me and we'll get that taken care of."

"I'll be sure to let you know."

"Good. I must ask: didn't anyone warn you about the dangers of drinking and lifting heavy objects?"

"I think I missed that disclaimer on the side of the vodka bottle."

Amy giggled, "Evidently."

"Oh come on, don't tell me you've never made the same mistake at least once."

"I haven't."

"Are you a tee-totaler?"

"No… I'm a whiskey girl." She nodded towards his injury. "I really hope that isn't the hand that you text with."

Bruce smirked at her while holding up his uninjured hand and wiggled his fingers. "No, that's this one…that's why I'm very careful with it."

"Ah I see. So this is the expendable hand, I take it?"

The corner of his mouth tugged upward. "Not entirely. I do sign checks with this hand."

Amy made a look of mock horror. "Oooh. Then it's a very good thing Dr. Haverton is treating you. He's all for doing pro-bono work."

At this, Bruce chuckled and was about to say something else, but Amy turned away to continue writing. After a moment she looked at her watch, saying: "Speaking of the suffering Samaritan, he should be back soon with your x-rays." As she headed out she called over her shoulder. "And next time, make sure to read the fine print on the Smirnoff."

Bruce laid his head back against the bed. "I'll try."

On her way down the hallway, Amy met Haverton, who was now accompanied by an older gentleman that she assumed it was Wayne's butler. She smiled at the white-haired man in acknowledgement and he reciprocated in kind.

The doctor had x-rays in his hand. "I can take it from here, so why don't you just head home, kiddo? It doesn't look like we'll be having much more, so Lainey and Greg can handle it."

"Wow that means I might actually make it home before dawn for a change."

He affectionately brushed her elbow. "Take care, hon. Get some sleep."

He just continued down the hallway while Amy called out to him, "Yeah, like that's gonna happen." Being a night shift nurse, Amy always worked 10 to 10, so she didn't really catch any winks before noon. Being as how she only worked three days a week, it was sometimes hard to adjust herself to sleep at night on her days (or nights, rather) off.

Amy made her way back to the nurse's station. Things were just as empty as when she left it, but more tense, as Lainey was putting together what appeared to be an elaborate house of cards. She was doing a pretty good job considering Greg kept trying to stick a pen in her ear. They really had waaay too much time on their hands.

"Sorry to interrupt y'all, but—"

"Y'all?" Lainey responded with her Scarlett O' Hara voice, "Are we southern now?"

"Nope, we're tired and loopy now. I'm gonna head out."

"Hold it!" Greg looked outraged. "Where d'ya think yer going?"

"Haverton said that you guys could handle all of the excitement around here, so sit back and enjoy. I'll see you guys next week." Amy began to leave with triumph in her heart before Lainey's voice stopped her.

"Since you're getting off early tonight, can you cover my shit tomorrow?"

"Can't. I've got a date tomorrow."

"Ah. Who's the unlucky guy?"

Amy huffed. "Trey."

Lainey's eyebrows shot up. "Your brother Trey?! Wanna rethink the southern thing. Cause right now you're skimming Arkansas territory."

"Oh shut up. I'm just his date to some event. He's meeting with potential contacts and he needs someone on his arm who doesn't look like a hired escort…just a forced one. Adios."

Once her post-shift errands done, Amy headed out to into lot 4B, which was one of the more isolated areas of the complex. It was a little dingy, but well illuminated so people felt safe enough around there. As she made her way down to her car, Amy couldn't shake the strange sensation that she was not alone.

She didn't have much time to dwell on it, though. Just as she reached her car, she barely registered a shadow emerging out from behind it before she was shoved to the ground.